Overactive Imaginations
by Maiden-Maple-Lover
Summary: I already brought this up in what was typed-the description was a part of that, sadly... Anyway... It's Slenderman and Hetalia. Don't judge me for not being used to the fanfiction site...I expect to type more, when I get a break from school, but I'm so shy about posting...Self-conscious... Anyway, ahah. Quickly written, blah, blah, I own nothing. It'll get more violent.


_I do not own the APH Cast or the Slenderman Mytho. ._._

_S-So, this is more of a quickly-written story…I-I hope to go further than what I have planned in it… B-But, ahah, I'm not responsible for any loss of sleep, any paranoia, coughing or hacking up of blood, ahah… Or if you start seeing things… I'm not responsible, please, it wasn't me, it was Alfred DX_

_But like, yeah. This story is quickly-written, I might be continuing it, I probably will, but like…I'm scared of what people think, I'm shy, and this is the first one that I actually feel is good enough to upload… *small sigh*… Ahah… … I was drinking maple syrup while typing this, I usually do drink maple syrup, but I don't usually let it near my computer, so I was on a sugar-high through most of this. Also, I'm exhausted from school...So hopefully, if people like it enough, I'm going to continue this..._

**PART I:**

**HAUNTED**

Arthur stole a glance out the window, furrowing his large brow at the rain that beat the window through the darkened world outside his own. Briefly closing his weary green eyes, he opened them, only to be staring down at the soapy dishwater, a murky brown, littered with dirty dishes. He let out a brief sigh before continuing to scrub the dishes while the two boys, the smallest a dirty blonde and carrying a tiny polar bear as he ran, a curl bobbing in the center of his forehead, the other was slightly chubby, sandy blonde with 'Nantucket' being folded backwards from running after his younger brother. Both were giggling uncontrollably, causing the Brit to glance back at them.

"Alfred, Matthew, don't run inside." Sighed Arthur, placing the dish into the drainer.

"But Moooooom," Whined the blonde with the strand of hair, now sticking nearly straight up as he stopped to face Arthur. "Mattie and I were just pwaying taaag!"

"L-Let's listen to Mama," Murmured the other, snuggling his polar bear. "P-Papa said to always obey Mama while he's at work…" For a six year old, his dialogue was strong, by far stronger than his older brother's.

"Thank you, Matt-" Arthur stared, wide-eyed into the center of the now-clean plate he was holding between his hand and his dishcloth. A bloody circle with a red "x" through it. He dropped the plate, allowing it to shatter on the white, tiled floor.

"Mama…?" "Mom?" The boys asked at the same moment, their once joyful expressions now concerned.

Arthur knelt, beginning to pick up the shards. "I…I'm fine, boys," He murmured, trembling slightly as he gathered the shards in his apron, occasionally stealing a glance at the boys that wore matching, long, white gowns.

"I'm alright, boys…" He smiled again, standing to his feet. _Not again…He's back, and for my boys…_ He thought as he made his way to the trashcan, emptying the glass shards from his apron.

"Mama…?" Matthew whimpered, tugging on Arthur's apron. "_You're frightened, Mama…_" He whispered as the Brit looked down at him.

"…N-No, Mattie," The blonde smiled softly, pushing his blonde bangs from his emerald eyes before ruffling Matthew's hair. "I'm fine…Run along now, and play with your brother."

Instantly, Alfred tackled his brother, causing the polar bear-Kumajirou-to fall underneath the youngest brother.

The polar bear let out a soft roar of shock; Matthew was too light weight to hurt anyway, and even Alfred, who overate constantly (unless Arthur cooked), was not enough to hurt him.

"Alfiiieee!" Whined Matthew quietly. "Get off of me, please…"

"But bro, you're sooo soft to sit oooonnn!" Alfred chimed. The Brit watched them, smiling softly. He bit back bitter tears on his lip, tasting the bitter copper in his mouth. He didn't want anything to happen to his boys…Francis would never believe him, and since being with France, he no longer made claims of fairies, unicorns, not even Flying Mint Bunnies. He secretly did magic—incantations, in attempt to protect his family from what had followed him since he was a child…Apparently, it did no good.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

A few hours later, Francis came in the door while Arthur was gently rocking the boys in his arms, in the recliner in the living room.

"Ah, mon petit boys," Francis sighed, smiling and placing his briefcase on the oak desk next to the front door. "They are exhausted, non?"

Arthur smiled softly, the boys peeking up from their faces nuzzled in their _Mama's_/_Mom's_ shoulders. "Yes, Francis…" Arthur chuckled softly. "They're exhausted, my love…"

"Too exhausted to greet their father?" Francis grinned as the boys practically leapt from the Brit's arms and ran to their father. He picked them up, one in each arm, and hoisted them to his shoulders. They both laughed and giggled, Matthew still clinging to his polar bear plushie.

"Mon petit Matthieu~; Mon petit Alfred~." Chimed the Frenchman in his smooth tone, snuggling the boys on his shoulders.

Arthur looked at them, wearing a nervous smile. He had to tell Francis…He had to. "It's about time for them to sleep, wouldn't you agree? It's past nine…"

"Oui, oui…" Francis slid his sons from his shoulders into his arms, smiling softly before letting them stand on the floor. He ruffled their hair—being cautious of Nantucket and Curl. "You two…Run off to bed,"

The boys looked up at their father before Matthew pouted. Alfred rolled his eyes before going up the stairs in the French-styled living room…Francis knew exactly what Matthew wanted. The Frenchmen knelt, gently kissing his son's forehead before the boy grinned, then ran off after his brother.

"Francis," Arthur stood, walking through the archway that lead to the kitchen. "I need to speak with you."

The blonde ran a hand through his wavy hair, clearly confused. "Hm? What about, my love?" He slowly followed the Brit into the kitchen…Which the Englishman now sat at the kitchen table, gesturing to a chair.

Francis pulled the chair up and sat down, leaning on the furniture with his elbows.

"Oui, Angleterre?" France asked calmly.

"…Francis, there's something … Dark after our boys. I'm afraid it might go after the other nation's children, as well." Arthur murmured.

"Angleterre, I told you to give up on all of this nonsense, did I not?" Francis sighed, his weary, blue eyes staring into Arthur's blazing, emerald eyes. "Please," He reached a hand out, placing it on Arthur's.

Arthur, while staring into Francis's aquamarine blue eyes, didn't quite know whether to be enraged that his love didn't take his warning into consideration, or whether to feel stupid—he was always wrapped in magic…What if it started to effect his boys? His relations?

What if they thought he was _insane_? They would send him _away_—or just abandon him. Arthur wouldn't be able to handle it again… Being on his own, with nobody by his side to help him, or share a laugh or two… No, no, no. He wouldn't let it happen again.

Though in the back of his mind…

_We didn't want to go…_

_We didn't want to kill them…_

_But…It's persistent silence and outstretched arms horrified us and comforted us at the same time…_

Arthur paced the parlor, arms behind his back, and his suit, usually spic-and-span, was not worn properly, the tie outside the jacket, the jacket buttoned wrong and almost as wrinkled as the white undershirt. He continuously glanced down at his cellphone; praying that one of the other nations would call. He didn't want to be a bother…He thought they'd address him if something went wrong that was rather … Unusual. After about an hour of pacing, he began to feel dizzy. Rubbing his forehead—being cautious of the bushy eyebrows—he fell back onto the couch, glancing around the neatly decorated room.


End file.
